


What is this Legacy?

by Do_not_careissa



Series: Star Sapphire Jason [10]
Category: Batman - All Media Types, DCU
Genre: Animal Lover Damian Wayne, Batfamily is a Mess (DCU), Bruce Wayne Has Issues, Bruce Wayne is a Bad Parent, Damian Wayne Needs a Hug, Damian Wayne-centric, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Good Parent Talia al Ghul, Good Sibling Cassandra Cain, Hurt Damian Wayne, Mentioned Bruce Wayne, Mentioned Dick Grayson, Mentioned Jason Todd
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-12
Updated: 2020-07-12
Packaged: 2021-03-04 21:54:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,424
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25223473
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Do_not_careissa/pseuds/Do_not_careissa
Summary: Things were slowly coming together, or was it that they were unraveling and finally revealing their true colors? Whichever way it went, Damian hated it regardless. The more he seemed to learn the less things made sense. The puzzle pieces all matched, but he couldn't for the life of him decipher the picture they were making. In a way he supposed that didn't matter, what mattered is what his father had done, what he really stood for, and whether that was a legacy Damiam wanted to continue.
Relationships: Bruce Wayne & Damian Wayne, Cassandra Cain & Damian Wayne, Clark Kent & Damian Wayne, Dick Grayson & Damian Wayne, Jonathan Samuel Kent & Damian Wayne, Talia al Ghul & Damian Wayne
Series: Star Sapphire Jason [10]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1632121
Comments: 26
Kudos: 343





	What is this Legacy?

Wayne Manor had always felt cold to Damian. Yes, there was the obvious temperature difference between Nanda Parbat and Gotham, but it wasn’t enough to account for how utterly frigid the property seemed. Even between the city and the grounds of the Wayne Estate there was a difference, a heaviness that seemed to pervade no matter where he went, constantly looming over him like a cloud of snow and ice, just close enough to feel but not enough to know its origins. Now though, now it was so much worse.

The manor was set to a reasonable temperature, Pennyworth would have made sure of it. For how the April rains might pour outside, their icy chill wouldn’t permeate into the den the family was gathered in. Yet that coldness still remained, digging and clawing its way into him.

They could be doing this back on the Watchtower, in the wing that had been temporarily regarded as theirs, yet everyone decided to return to the manor instead. Perhaps it was the idea of familiarity that the location brought everyone, maybe it was to ensure Pennyworth would not be burdened with using the cave’s boom tube, it did seem to cause him problems after all. Maybe it was the safety they felt in the manor’s walls compared to the dull lifelessness of the Watchtower, the lack of eyes and ears surrounding and checking in on them. Whatever it may be, they were there now, every last one of them.

Well, everyone who could be anyway.

Damian felt a tightness in his chest, one that quickly rose to his throat at the thought, at the imagery it brought forth. Father’s broken body, Richard’s howl of outrage, his face filled with so much self loathing, Todd’s neck… 

Titus nudged his hand with his nose, licking his palm in an effort to calm him. He patted the dog’s head, offering a small smile before turning back to the others. He needed to concentrate, stay in control. He could deal with his emotions later, now wasn’t the time. 

“Alright,” Drake began, heaving a sigh as his eyes roamed over everyone present. “Everyone’s here, let’s get started.”

“Shouldn’t we wait thought?” Thomas asked. “Like, at least until Dick gets back from wherever he went?”

“No,” Gordon answered, nails tapping on the arm of her chair. “We have no way of knowing how long he’ll be gone for, and we need to deal with all of this now.”

“First order of business is Bruce and Dick’s disappearance, as well as Bruce’s injuries,” Drake said, eyes looking particularly dead. He’d hardly been sleeping these last few days, Damian knew that quite well. While they might not be on the best of terms it was hard to ignore the dark circle under his eyes, the twitching and shaking of his hands when the caffeine would hit, the frantic tapping of keys and whispers in the middle of the night. The walls of the Watchtower may be thick, but they weren’t thick enough to keep the sounds of guilt and sorrow away.

“Car crash is an option we’ve used before,” Gordon offered, “but that wouldn’t explain Bruce or Dick’s disappearance.”

“We’d also need to come up with a totaled car and a police report at the very least.”

“You’ve done this before? Fake a wreck to cover this sort of thing?” At everyone’s blank stare Thomas had a genuine look of concern. “You don’t think that’s at least a little fucked up?”

Sometimes Damian forgot how truly  _ normal _ Duke Thomas could be, how real his worry and concern over even the smallest of things was. Fighting beside him, watching him make the same death defying leaps across the city, seeing him fight the same murderers and monsters as the rest of them, it was easy to forget that even now, after joining the family, he didn’t view such activities as normal. A necessity for Gotham’s safety? Sure, but normal? Safe? Sane?

“It’s that or let the public know who we are. And frankly, that isn’t an option.” Gordon’s voice was cold, calculated, but it was the truth, a truth they’d all begrudgingly accepted.

“Vacation,” Kane offered. “Brucie Wayne wanted to spend time with his oldest son on some exotic island that no one’s heard about.”

“That would give us some extra time to explain their disappearance,” Brown muttered. “More time for Dick to get back too.”

“And the injuries?” Thomas asked skeptically.

“Freak accident.” Gordon started typing on her laptop, no doubt compiling the information for later. “No one knows exactly what happened. Bruce has no memory of the incident, Dick was in a state of panic, didn’t process anything that was happening.”

“How long until the story needs to go public?” Brown asked.

“I’d say at least a week,” Drake offered. “I can move things around at Wayne Enterprises, keep the board busy. Bruce has gone on impromptu ‘vacations’ before, it wouldn’t be anything new. For the moment we act like normal, or at the very least stay out of the public eye. Once Dick gets back we can move on to the accident story.”

“Lucius Fox will need to be made aware of the situation,” Pennyworth added.

“Damn it.” Drake leaned down, head in his hands. “How the hell did we forget about Lucius?” 

“Not your fault,” Cassandra offered, patting his shoulder. “Many things happened, no one remembered.”

“Yeah man, it’s not like you’re the only one who forgot,” Thomas added.

“But I…”

Damn chose that moment to speak up, seeing how the situation was quickly falling apart. Once he might have found it entertaining to watch Drake fall apart in guilt, but now the idea brought him no amusement, only a mounting frustration at their current situation. “Fox likely knows of what has transpired. The attacks are public knowledge, as is the League’s presence in Gotham and our absence afterwards. If he doesn’t know everything, he knows enough for the moment.”

“Shrimpcake’s right,” Brown agreed, ignoring Damian’s glare. “Lucius isn’t stupid. There’s at least one or two videos of Kori fighting Dick and that cat floating around the internet, some more of the League and stuff. It doesn’t take much to put two and two together here.”

“We’ll need to tell Roy and Kori as well,” Gordon added, continuing her typing.

“Your dad too,” Brown said. At Gordon’s raised brow she huffed. “Oh please, like he doesn’t know who we are. Your dad, the police commissioner, a former detective, and he’s known Bruce for how long? He totally knows.”

Gordon stared at her long and hard, eyes narrowed to slits. While she never really worried Damian, in moments like these he could feel a slight chill run up his spine. She may not be the best fighter within their group, might lack the skills and training that he had, but she didn’t need it, not for what she needed. That look said enough to confirm that for Damian. He’d always hoped to never be on the receiving end of that glare, and watching Brown’s attempts to not squirm reminded him why that was.

Gordon sighed, her eyes closing as she pinched the bridge of her nose. After a moment she looked up, readjusting her glasses, eyes even more tired than before. “Yeah,” she grumbled, “he knows.”

“How long?” Kane asked.

“Long enough.”

“Okay okay,” Brown interrupted with a wave of her hands. “Alright, so we have our cover story, vacation gone wrong, we know we need to tell Lucius, the commish, Kori and Roy, on top of Dick and Bruce whenever they, ya know. What’s next?”

“The League,” Drake declared. “Letting them in Gotham.”

“Father wouldn’t—” Damian quickly cut himself off, realizing what he was about to say. ‘Father wouldn’t allow it.’ But his father wasn’t in charge right now, likely wouldn’t be for a long time if he ever was again. In many ways Damian could argue that was the reason his father had gotten so hurt in the first place, why things had escalated so quickly. He’d kept their allies at arm’s length, forbade them from entering ‘his’ city. It only made sense that when it came time to request their help, when they really needed them, they were too far away to make it in time.

“Damian?” Brown’s voice drew his attention, actual concern in her eyes. What right did she have acting concerned for him? None, none at all. They weren’t close, certainly weren’t friends. She needed to focus on herself and Drake, not him.

“Father wouldn’t allow them within the city aside from under specific circumstances,” he said after considering his words. “Do you intend to change that?”

The room seemed to grow colder somehow, tenser, the others drawing in on themselves much like a threatened cat, ready to puff up and hiss and attack the would be attacker.

“Do you think there is a problem if we do?” Drake challenged him, eyes hard as they stared each other down.

“Only that they may overstep their boundaries. Even if they are allowed in, it still needs to be acknowledged that they are guests, just as if we were to enter Metropolis or Central City. There needs to be limits set in place.”

Surprise seemed to pass over the others before they relaxed, clearly not expecting the response. It was to be expected, he understood that. For so long he’d followed his father’s rules, blindly gone with his decisions. But he couldn’t do that anymore, he knew that now.

“That can be arranged. What limits were you thinking of?” Drake asked, seeming genuinely curious.

Damian leaned back, considering. He hadn’t actually expected them to listen to him. If anything he’d expected them to scoff and give the Justice League free reign of the city. “They should be on comms with us,” he said, “and be part of debriefs when involved in a case or situation.”

The others nodded in agreement, Gordon adding to her no doubt extensive list. “We should probably limit who can operate within the city, or at least how many can be present at one time baring an emergency,” she said. “It’d be chaos if everyone just up and decided to enter Gotham all at once.”

“We could probably come up with a schedule, or at least a roster of who’s allowed in,” Drake said. “Kind of like what we had a few months ago.” The others nodded and hummed their agreement, remembering the months where having at least one other League member in the city had been normal, and to them more than appreciated. “We can bring it up with the League later, settle the specifics together.”

A feeling of calm washed over the group, a sense of accomplishment at the decision. Damian could feel the others’ eyes flicking to him, no doubt wondering when the other shoe would drop. Too bad for them, it wasn’t going to happen. There was no master plan to take over, he just wanted what was best, to not repeat those past mistakes. Was that too much to ask for? At least he didn’t need to worry about Titus judging him. He reached down, petting along the black fur on the dog’s head and neck. No, the dog was much too good to think he’d go back on what he said.

Some minutes passed as everyone partook in the drinks and snacks Pennyworth set out for them. Gordon finally stopped typing and with it the sense of ease started to fade. While there might be a number of topics they needed to discuss, there was one that had been hanging over everyone’s head since they learned of the extent of Bruce’s injuries.

“So, uh,” Brown started, “what are we gonna do about the whole Batman thing?”

The room fell silent, all eyes dropping to the floor in an effort to avoid each other. Gordon broke the silence, her voice coated in bitterness. It wasn’t hard to guess who it was directed at. “Dick won’t do it, not again.” She looked to the ceiling, her lips pulled tight. “Maybe a handful of nights, but he’s not gonna do it full time again, especially not now. And with the whole Red Lantern issue at the moment, there’s no way in hell. We’ll be lucky if he even remains a vigilante when he gets back, for all we know he might want to live a normal life free of all this shit. Can’t say I’d blame him if he did.”

It was clear how uncomfortable the statement everyone, how little they’d considered the prospect. Damian had considered it, knew it was a possibility, but hearing it from Gordon’s lips just seemed to make it so much realer, so much more of a possibility. All eyes shifted to Drake, everyone hoping to avoid the end of Gordon’s statement.

“No,” Drake said sternly, before his voice took on a mournful tone. “With everything that’s happened I can’t, not anymore.”

There were looks of sympathy, all mixed with their own versions of sadness and regret. They each understood what he was talking about, what he meant. Maybe once he would have been willing to take up the mantle, before all the lies and deceit came to light. Now, now he just couldn’t. Once again everyone looked to Damian, expecting him to stake his claim to the title. He remained silent.

“If there has to be a Batman I nominate Cass,” Brown announced. “If you’re okay with that,” she added sheepishly to the other woman. Cassandra nodded her acceptance, looking to the others for confirmation.

There were words of approval, the hums and nods to accompany them, before Thomas asked, “Cass is a girl though, how’s that gonna work?”

“You say that as though the enemy will see her coming,” Damian retorted. “If anything, her size and gender will be an advantage in the role, it will leave the enemy confused.”

“Oh my god,” Brown stage whispered. “Is he saying he approves?”

“Yes, I am,” he answered, crossing his arms as he fought to keep his expression neutral.

Everyone looked between him and Cassandra, stuck between confusion and surprise at the turn of events. Finally everyone looked to Cassandra.

“Cass?” Gordon asked.

“Thank you,” Cassandra said with a smile. “I will do my best.”

A collective breath was released, everyone relaxing just that little bit at the decision. It wasn’t the end all of everything that needed dealt with, but it would do for now. The conversation moved on to other topics, the rogues, Akrham and Blackgate, and so on. Damian could feel Cassandra’s gaze on him, curious over his silence and acceptance. He didn’t look back, that earlier tightness in his throat returning as the conversation once more steered towards his father.

* * *

The batcave was usually seen as a place of tranquility, a place where Damian could go to escape his mind, to relax his body as he worked through different exercises and routines. But lately that wasn’t the case. He jumped, twisted and kicked just as he’d done hundreds of times before, only to miss the landing, his weight placed incorrectly, his foot not extended into the correct position. Rolling to the ground in an attempt to avoid injury, he came to a stop on his back, glaring up at the rock ceiling so far above him. A bat up above shifted, its wings stretching out before returning to their original positions, drawing his eye.

He watched the small animal, the other bats hanging nearby, in an attempt to clear the confusion and frustration that battled in his mind. Bats were simple, predictable, they made sense just as so many other animals did. They didn’t have the problems that humans had, didn’t really share in their struggles. That was probably for the best though. Damian couldn’t imagine anyone he’d want to suffer with the pain that had been lancing through him lately.

Damian had been growing concerned for a while now, had begun to experience a sense of wrongness, this feeling that something wasn’t quite right, that he didn’t have the full picture, but he’d ignored it, pushed it away. It wasn’t his place to question his father. His father knew best after all. But these feelings, they hadn’t gone away, if anything they’d gotten worse.

In some horrible way he’d hoped with Todd’s disappearance back in August that the feeling would dissipate, that it had merely been Todd’s rebellion against Father that planted those seeds of doubt within him. But the concern, the scratching of something being off, the feeling that his father’s decisions were the wrong ones, that some unknown line had been crossed, had only gotten worse. 

But he never said anything. Fear was not an emotion Damian admitted to often, but the idea of confronting his father, of rejecting his orders in the way Richard and the others had upon hearing his claim that Todd was a Red Lantern, it made him feel ill. He knew his father loved him, really, he just… he couldn’t shake this fear, this ‘what if’ that hung over him anytime he disagreed with what was being said, with what they were doing.

After what happened in Amusement Mile, what he learned afterwards, he hated to admit that his fear might have been justified.

He’d known he shouldn’t, knew Richard and the others wouldn’t approve of him searching the files out, surely Drake or Gordon were already doing so, but the hunger, the need to know was far too great for him to resist. They all knew what the Joker, that abhorrent excuse for a human being, had told Richard, whether they were in the room at the time or had been across the city they knew. Father had fought Todd when he had returned, apparently slit his throat during the final confrontation, then rescued the Joker as he left his resurrected son to die once more. The claim had been more than enough for everyone to question their place within the family, to question his father’s claims of love for Todd, and by extension his love for them. What were the chances of the Joker lying? Why lie when he could use the truth and make it hurt so much worse?

His father was supposed to be strong, physically, mentally, morally. He was supposed to be right, supposed to stand for justice, for change and hope for a better future. He was supposed to be these things, had claimed to be fighting for all of them, to represent them, but Damian couldn’t be so sure any more.

It took far longer to find the recordings than he’d expected, the files hidden behind so many walls and passwords Damian was almost convinced what he was working towards was actually some kind of weapon or last resort contingency plan. They hadn’t been filed with everything else, not placed or labeled by their date or even by a case number, not even placed in one of the many folders corresponding to the Joker or anything of the like. No, the recording from the cowl, and the surrounding CCTV footage was off in its own secret location. After hours of searching and code cracking and headaches he’d found it… and everything else.

Speculations, theories, the ramblings of a man fueled by an unhealthy obsession to know every little thing that was happening, by an obsession to be  _ right _ . There wasn’t just the feed from the incident in that folder, there was all of his work leading up to that night, all of his father’s observations, all the theories he’d worked through, all the things he’d believed. But there was more, because of course there was. It seemed his father had some ideas about what brought Todd back, on why he’d “turned away” from his father’s ideology, why he wasn’t the same person he was before he died. 

While Damian couldn’t answer the former, he at the very least knew one answer to the later. Of course Todd hadn’t been the same person he was all those years ago, he’d died. He’d been tortured, murdered, then been forced back into the world of the living without his consent. The trauma from that alone would put most well adjusted individuals back in the ground, there’s no way of knowing what it would do to a teenager with Todd’s history. He’d already dealt with so much trauma before he’d died, how much worse must it have been he’d come back, after he’d seen what had become of the bats in his absence? After he learned of the Joker’s continued existence and of the things that were said about him and his death?

For some reason Damian had never really stopped to consider any of that before, had never thought about how each of their traumas had inevitably changed them all. Todd seemed unlucky to a horrible degree when he really thought about it. He’d gotten out of this life, been free in the way that only death could offer, yet he’d been forced back into the land of the living, forced to relive his traumas and live through new ones. There were more than a few times that Damian could remember goading Todd about his death, how he should have stayed dead, how he was unwanted. The memory made him his head hurt, pain throbbing at his temples as he fought against the crushing feeling in his chest.

There were more recordings, some five years older than the first, featuring a younger Todd with a brighter smile and a look of life in his eyes, followed by his father’s reasoning that perhaps Todd’s actions had been heading in a dark direction even before his death, that perhaps he’d always been a lose canon waiting to explode.

It made Damian sick hearing it, knowing his father likely believed the things he’d said. He was struck by a horrifying thought, a question he was sure he already knew the answer to: had his father ever asked Todd what happened? Had he ever bothered to ask him, without judgement or assumptions or criticism, what happened all those years ago in Ethiopia? What happened in that warehouse with the Joker and Sheila Haywood? How he’d even gotten into the warehouse? Or had his father made his own decision on what happened? Had he looked at the scene, and without any confirmation or solid, bullet proof evidence, decided he knew what happened?

How much of the story Father told of Todd’s death was truth, and how much was a baseless condemnation?

He forced his way through the few files there, returning to the time of Todd’s return and Father’s speculations on how it happened. He’d questioned numerous members of the Justice League, worked through the ranks of resurrected heroes and magic users, before falling upon the idea of the League of Assassins and Damian’s mother. It felt like a tidal wave being unleashed upon him, seeing his father’s words so stark and cold as they spoke of his mother this way. It seemed like the ravings of a madman, like a conspiracy nut who couldn’t just accept that the answer was right in front of him, he just had to be willing to open his eyes and listen to what people were saying.

If Damian hadn’t been questioning his father’s state of mind over the last few months, seeing those files, watching the footage, hearing his father’s voice growl out those things, it would leave no room for argument. His father was not well, not at all.

He understood that this life, that being a hero, especially one in a city like Gotham, could be taxing, even harmful to one’s wellbeing. How many times had one of them been hurt? How many times had their bones been broken and their blood been painted over the floor? Of course his father would sustain some kind of mental scarring after everything he’d seen, but this, this was something else. This was something terrifying.

It all made sense, why Todd kept his distance, why he’d always had that  _ look _ whenever Father was around, why when given the option to leave everything and start a new life on the other side of the universe, he’d taken it and run without a single look back.

Damian knew it wasn’t his fault, knew he’d had no chance of ever knowing any of this before, would have been powerless against his father, but guilt was a strong thing, and he couldn’t fight off its influence, not then, and certainly not now.

The cave was still cold, if not even colder now than it had been a week ago. While Todd’s old case, his memorial really, may have been moved to stand beside the others, the plaque naming Todd as a “good soldier” removed, the mask still seemed to watch him, emotionless and cold, as though it were judging him. He hated that thing, had always hated it, but for different reasons. Originally he’d seen it as a sign of failure, as an example of why only he was worthy of the mantle, a sign that Todd had been as worthless as the streets he’d once lived on. But now, now it seemed to represent something else. Blame? Guilt? Shame? Perhaps what it really showed was someone that should have accomplished so much, moved beyond the lot he’d been given in life, yet been pushed back down by the actions and decisions of others.

His stomach churned, a vile taste racing up his throat as his eyes remained fixed on the display. This wasn’t right, none of this was right.

He moved from the training area, his movements stiff and uncoordinated as he made his way to the massive computer. It’d been a day since he found the files, since he’d combed through them, yet he found himself reopening them, working through the folders and codes without even considering it, as though something else was controlling his hands. But there had to be something else there, something that would make everything make sense again, to help him understand what had gone wrong.

That was how Drake found him, sitting in that massive chair, dwarfed by the enormous screens surrounding him, slowly falling into desperation. He didn’t say anything as he took the seat next to Damian, just set down the small cup of tea before taking a drag from his coffee. Damian looked to the teacup, then back to Drake, his eyes squinted, expecting this to be some sort of trick, only to find Drake’s eyes glued to the screen before them, once again looking sad and far too tired. Damian couldn’t hold back his grimace at the expression, turning away so he could avoid it.

He sifted through a few more files, found one speculating about Todd’s involvement with Roman Sionis, another on any possible connections to Thomas Elliott and the Hush incident. So many files just on Todd, just on those few months when he’d returned, some more on the months following. In so many ways it felt like the files they made on their rogues. Really, looking at it, Damian couldn’t deny that that’s exactly what it was.

“Did you know?” he asked, voice rough from disuse. The screen once again showed the full list of files he’d found, all laid out for Drake to see.

“No,” Drake answered, setting his mug down with a sigh. “I had my suspicions, but nothing to really back it up. Missing feeds are weird, yeah, but not unheard of, especially back then. Things weren’t exactly calm when Jason came back either.” He blew out another sigh, eyes flitting between the different displays. “I didn’t connect Jason’s scar to Bruce, there wasn’t a reason to. He’d made so many enemies, someone probably just got in a lucky shot.”

“And later?”

“My suspicions popped up again. I knew a cut like that had to come from something high grade, something like our equipment, I’d seen similar cuts enough times to know. But I couldn’t believe it, I didn’t want to honestly.” He shook his head, looking to Damian out of the corner of his eye. “Jason never brought it up, guess I just figured he’d say something if that’s what happened.”

Damian met his gaze, staring back at him before snapping his head away with a snarl. “How did we miss it? We are not clueless children, we’ve solved cases with less tells before.”

“Bias, victim blaming, our own distance with Jason. Our bias would always fall in Bruce’s favor, whether we want to believe it or not. Even if Jason said something we probably wouldn’t have believed him. On top of that, he’s still working with us, with Bruce. We’d take that as a sign that he was lying or exaggerating, that he was trying to divide us. You don’t stay with the people who hurt you after all.”

“But people do,” Damian countered, his hands clenched. “We’ve seen victims stay with their abusers, even defend them. We are aware this is a common occurrence.”

“Yeah, but tell me Damian, would you have believed him? Because I know I wouldn’t have. Chances are no one would have.”

The cave fell silent as Damian fought to avoid Drake’s gaze, fully aware that the other was still watching him. He was right, Damian knew that, but it didn’t make it any less frustrating. The leather squealed beneath his hands as he gripped the arm rests with all his strength, his knuckles beaming a bright white at the pressure.

“How did this happen?” he asked through gritted teeth. “We are supposed to be protectors, we are supposed to be fighting for good, not, not  _ this _ .”

Drake, no Timothy, put his hand on his shoulder. “I don’t know,” he said with remorse. “I wish I did, really, but I don’t.” 

He moved to pull Damian into a side hug, his movements stiff and awkward, but making it clear he was  _ trying _ . Richard was usually the one to initiate physical contact for most of them, and they felt his absence to an extreme degree in this area. Most of the physical contact they received was during fights, in the form of fists and kicks, they all struggled with that want for something more while lacking the knowledge or ability to do so. Richard was the one person who seemed capable of picking up on that for them. Cassandra came close, but even she struggled with approaching such things sometimes. With Richard gone there was a huge hole there, one that Damian knew shouldn’t have been there in the first place. He went with Timothy’s movements, letting his head hit the other’s shoulder. Richard wasn’t there to offer them the comfort they knew they needed, so they’d just have to give it to each other he supposed. 

“Let’s get you upstairs,” Timothy said sometime later, lightly patting his shoulder so Damian would sit up. “Babs and I can figure out what to do with all of this. I’m sure Titus and Alfred are waiting for you.”

At the mention of his animal companions Damian allowed himself to be coerced out of his seat and up into the manor, all the while fighting against that feeling of wrongness that permeated the air. If anyone should be caring for him so much it should be Richard. Dra-Timothy wasn’t the person meant for this job, not when it came to him anyway. But he kept those thoughts to himself, content to enjoy the small amount of peace that Timothy’s presence was bringing him.

* * *

His father remained still, not unlike a corpse, as Damian studied him. He knew all of his injuries, had studied the clipboard attached to the bed, had listened as the doctors listed off every single thing that had happened, every broken and shattered bone, every torn tendon, every ripped muscle and punctured organ, every previous injury that had worked to make the new ones that much worse. He knew every single one of his father’s injuries, understood them, yet somehow he still felt so confused at the sight of his father prone on that bed.

He had so many question, yet so few answers.

He knew the Martian, J’onn J’onzz, had been speaking to his father telepathically. According to Timothy his father had taken some mental damage which required the Martian’s telepathic abilities to repair. Timothy hadn’t elaborated on what those damages meant, but he really didn’t need to. Amnesia, personality changes, memory loss that could span from minor things up to standard daily actions and knowledge, losing control of his limbs, the list of possibilities went on and on. J’onzz had to work on him, there was no other option. If he didn’t the chances of his father ever waking up, let alone surviving for very long, diminished drastically.

Damian couldn’t stop the small, bitter voice in the back of his mind that wondered if it’d be better if J’onzz didn’t.

If he wanted, he could ask J’onzz to link him to his father so they could talk. It would allow them to clear the air, to ask the questions that had plagued Damian since he’d realized how bad things had become. But what could he say, honestly? It felt like there was no way to adequately express the pain and frustration he felt, no way to really make his father understand. Could he really ask his father why he did what he did? Could he accuse him of keeping such vital information from the family? Of perpetrating a lie? Of breaking the code he spent so much time drilling into Damian?

Pain lanced through his chest, prickling at his temples as he watched his father. Could he ever really trust him again? After everything that had happened, everything that had come to light? Richard had trusted him, Todd had trusted him, and look where it led them. Richard, deformed and host to an alien ring that fed off of and enhanced his rage, and Todd, with a scar across his throat and the knowledge that no matter Father’s words he’d never be afforded anything more than scorn and malice. Is that what awaited him? This rejection and manipulation? He’d spent so long following his father like some puppy, seeking out his approval, and yet somehow he doubted he’d ever get it.

“Damian?” The familiar Kansas drawl would have made him jump if the response hadn’t been drilled out of him as a child. Looking to the med bay door he found Kent, in full Superman regalia, looking at him in concern. “Are you alright?” he asked as he stepped more fully into the room, taking the seat next to Damian. At the lack of response he followed Damian’s gaze, eyes falling on his friend. He turned back to Damian, brows creased as he struggleed against his own reaction. “Would you like me to get J’onn? I’m sure he wouldn’t mind helping you talk to him.”

Damian shook his head, eyes remaining trained on his father. “No, that will not be necessary.”

Kent remained silent next to him, nodding his acknowledgement before leaning back in his chair and closing his eyes. They sat for a while, Kent listening to the world around them, no doubt listening in on his and his father’s heartbeat and other vital systems. It was a normal thing for Kent to do, his way of checking in on the people he cared about. He must have noticed the conflict in Damian, how he fought with the thoughts and feelings running through him. “It’s okay Damian,” he said, opening his eyes. “It’s alright for you to be angry at him.”

Damian stared back at him like he’d gone mad. He’d felt frustrated by his father’s actions, yes, hurt most definitely, but angry? He shook his head frantically at the man. “No I can’t. Richard allowed himself to be angry at Father and he got hurt in the process. Father is not even awake, it would not be fair to be angry at someone who cannot defend himself.”

Kent looked at him with sadness, his eyes closing in an attempt to collect himself. “No, Damian, it’s okay. If anything holding your anger back will only hurt you and everyone else more in the long run.” He looked back to Damian’s father, his face hard. “That feeling of loss and betrayal, you’re allowed to feel that. What Bruce did, I can’t imagine that you ever thought he could do those things. I know I didn’t.”

It was odd seeing Kent like this. Normally a figure of confidence and hope, here he looked as frustrated and hurt as Damian felt. “You are angry?” he asked.

“Absolutely.” Kent leaned back, his head tilted to the ceiling as though searching for answers. “He took Jason in, literally took him off the streets, put him in his home, adopted him, promised him a new life. He was his son, he’s supposed to protect him, not, not that. He had other options, but he chose to go with that one.” He heaved a sigh, looking to Damian as though searching him for something. “He promised Jason family, love and understanding when he took him in, just as he did with Dick and Tim and Cass and yourself. Whether any of you realized that or not, that’s the promise you make to your children. He had other options.” His hands squeezed together, the skin turning whiter the longer he held them there. “I could never in a million years imagine doing what he did, never. There’s no excuse for what he did, not to Jason, not to Dick, not to any of you.”

Damian couldn’t remember the last time he’d seen Kent so angry, so full of vitriol and condemnation and pain. He was always so bright, much like the sun that granted him his super human abilities, like Richard before all of this occured. Kent was never angry, disappointed perhaps, but he would save his fury for those who deserved it, those villains who hurt people and sought to control them and the world.

The fact his father could be included in that group now, it was nauseating.

“What will happen when Father wakes up?” Damian asked through the lump in his throat. “Thus far he has been an integral member within the Justice League. With him unable to resume his post as Batman, how will that change?”

Kent once again looked at him with sadness almost akin to pity. “Trust is a very important thing in our line of work. You know this just about as well as anyone. The League members I’ve spoken with don’t feel they can trust him, and I can’t blame them. Maybe one day he could act as an advisor or strategist or something, but he has a lot of work to do before the League would trust him in such a position.”

Hearing the words said so clearly, it hurt in a way. He understood the reasoning, of course. Lives were often at stake in their line of work, they couldn’t afford to second guess each other’s motives. He understood that, but for some reason he just couldn’t stop the pang in his chest in knowing how deeply his father’s actions had wounded the League, in how he’d broken the bonds he’d created within its ranks. He might not be friends with them, but they were still allies, still people who relied on each other.

“What of the Lanterns? They knew of Todd’s whereabouts yet said nothing for months.”

“We haven’t decided yet. While we’re frustrated that they hid that information from us, it seems to have been for Jason’s protection more than anything. He needed a chance to grow and develop without the possibility of Bruce’s interference.” Kent seemed to be fighting with himself over something, a decision running around his head as he thought it through before deciding on a course of action. “Considering what Hal told me of his and Jason’s situation, I can’t say I blame them.”

Damian perked up at that, his curiosity piqued. “What situation?”

“By the time Jason and Dick return to Earth Jason Todd, by law, will be alive again.”

Damian felt the world halt around him, the sentence like so many other things making no sense in his mind. Todd legally alive? But he’d been back for over three years, surely Father had… “Did Father never…?” He couldn’t bring himself to finish the question, the information running in circles around his head, still so unclear yet almost too clear. Surely Father wasn’t so cruel as to leave Todd in such a state. For all their problems he would have allowed Todd the freedom that was afforded to the living, he wouldn’t have held that power and control over him. His father understood what people did when they were granted so few options and legal protections, had seen what Todd had resorted to as a child, he would have…

“No.” Kent’s voice was damning, pushing a weight onto Damian’s chest with the one single word. “And Jason won’t be Bruce’s son anymore. They’re changing his papers. He’ll be Hal’s son from now on.” Kent looked off to the side, scratching his brow as he muttered, “As weird as the idea of Hal having a kid might be.”

Todd was going to be… But he couldn’t do that, no, that didn’t make sense, he couldn’t! If Todd wasn’t his father’s son anymore that meant… The mounting panic seeped out of him, a strange feeling of shame welling up in its place. He’d said before he was Father’s only true son, hadn’t he? He’d basically said the others were fakes, cheap knock offs, not real. He was getting what he wanted, wasn’t he? He’d never have to deal with Todd again, it’d be perfect, right? 

Except he knew it wouldn’t be. This wasn’t right and he knew it.

There’d already been such a large hole left by Todd’s disappearance, seeming to grow with every day that went by, almost like it was rotting away. Now, having him return only to turn away from them, to reject their familial ties and want nothing to do with them? Looking back to his father he had to admit Kent was right. Loss and betrayal swam beneath his breast bone, floating up through his throat, trying to reach his eyes. 

He’d spent so long wanting his father’s kingdom, to inherit his power and respect, but looking now, he wasn’t sure it was the kind of power and respect he really wanted, that anyone should want. A kingdom built upon lies and manipulation, respect stolen through fear and intimidation, power through control. He knew his father had done good, had helped so many people. Once he’d surely been respected for his good deeds, had been given power willingly, but looking at this, at what he’d done, it was hard to find any of that goodness left.

He felt an arm around his shoulders, Kent’s large hand holding him in an attempt to sooth him. Damn alien could probably smell the tears he was fighting back. Asshole.

* * *

Gotham had been disturbingly quiet for the few hours he’d been patrolling. Considering the events that took place barely a week prior, he couldn’t say he was surprised. Having such a large scale attack happen all at once, and then to have it be put down by the Justice League of all things, and an angry League at that, well any criminal with half a brain would be laying low. No doubt news had gotten around of the Joker as well, his fiery demise at the hands of Nightwing, the sheer destruction that had followed him in his path. Damian had heard horrified whispers of possession and demons, of magic and monsters and the devil taking hold of the vigilante. It was laughable really, but at the same time he understood their fears, knew they didn’t have a point of reference for what had happened. But one thing was for certain, Gotham’s criminals were scared, and they should be. 

The figure crouched next to him was yet another reason for Gotham’s criminal underground to stay inside and out of trouble. While Cassandra may have been smaller than his father, she was also that much more terrifying because of it. Of the few crimes they’d come across they’d been dealt with quickly, the men left shrieking in terror as a shadow seemed to stretch towards them like some eldritch abomination. For how odd the sight was, Damian had to admit he felt a spark of awe at Cassandra’s efficiency and the complete fear she could instill in their enemies, all without making a sound.

In only a few nights it felt as though she’d taken the identity of Batman away from the public figure it’d become, from the humanity it had acquired, and returned it to the legend it had once been. This wasn’t a man they were facing, this wasn’t human, this was something else entirely.

The suit had been altered, there wasn’t any other option. Father absolutely dwarfed Cassandra, his height and mass serving to create an imposing figure capable of taking a beating. Cassandra on the other hand was lithe, not frail but certainly not the mountain of muscle that his father was. Where his father needed extra protection, Cassandra needed flexibility.

Looking at Cassandra’s needs as Batman reminded him of Richard, of the many alterations that had been done to get him into the suit, how much lighter it had to be to compensate for how he moved. In a way, Richard’s efforts under the cowl had made it easier for Cassandra to transition into it. It was unfortunate he couldn’t be there to see the fruits of his labor.

Soaring over Gotham felt, not wrong, but certainly not normal. While his father may not have talked, the silence then compared to the silence now wasn’t the same. Racing across the rooftops with Cassandra, he felt calm, relaxed even, nowhere near as tense as he was realizing he’d always been around his father. He knew a lot of that tension came from seeking his father’s approval, from the innate fear of disappointing him, but why was he so afraid? Why had he been so desperate for the man’s approval?

He was Damian’s father, of course Damian would want his attention, what child didn’t? But it felt like it was so much more than that, so much heavier.

Cassandra pulled them to a stop, their feet landing on a familiar rooftop. This rooftop, and every rooftop in the surrounding area, had been combed for days following Todd’s disappearance, every last square inch searched for signs of the missing vigilante. This rooftop was the only one that held anything, Todd’s discarded helmet, a trail of blood, and a bloody bullet the only signs that he’d ever been there. That was all gone now, of course, the helmet retrieved, the bullet taken for study, the blood wiped clean, but it was unmistakable. This was the rooftop.

He knew exactly where the trail ended, had stared at that small puddle of blood long enough to know its every detail, how its color had faded and darkened, how it had dried, how the bullet have fallen into it. He’d stood by and watched as Richard took samples from the blood, scrapping up just enough to ensure this was actually Todd’s and not someone else’s. He’d been there to see the terror in Richard’s face, in the way he paced frantically back and forth as they waited for the results, as they took preliminary scans of the bullet to match it to a gun in the hopes of finding the perpetrator, even as they knew how pointless that was. He’d stood in this very spot when the results came in that, yes, this was Todd’s blood, and he’d been there to see Richard struggle to maintain his composure at the realization that they had no leads on where Todd could be. 

Somehow they’d all come to the conclusion that Todd had removed the bullet from his leg, that in the heat of the moment he’d foolishly pulled the bullet from his still bleeding thigh. There was no camera footage to backup the idea, this corner being one of the many blind spots in the city’s surveillance, but that also meant there wasn’t any footage to disprove their theory either. Never in a million years would Damian have expected what had actually happened to occur. Then again no one had.

Really, thinking about it, Todd had a habit of that, didn’t he? Only minutes prior to his disappearance he’d disarmed that bomb, taking everyone by surprise. It was as though they’d all just assumed he could only destroy and cause pain, that the training Damian’s mother had given him only made him a weapon. If anyone should have seen past that falsehood it should have been Damian. While his own training within the League of Assassins may have trained him to be lethal and dangerous, his mother had told him on more than one occasion to look at his skills from every angle, to consider how his knowledge could be used outside of the obvious situations.

Learning the quickest way to down an opponent meant he knew what areas needed the most immediate medical attention. By learning how to infiltrate a compound he knew what precautions needed to be made for locations he oversaw. By creating a weapon he knew how to take it apart.

It should have been obvious that Todd knew what he was doing, so why did no one see that?

A finger pressed into his cheek making him flinch back at the feeling. Cassandra stared back at him, her eyes hidden but no doubt watching him closely.

“Hurting,” she said a moment later, drawing a line across his cheek with her finger.

“Very astute,” he grumbled, ignoring the hand that was now running over his hair.

“Hurting,” she repeated. “You should talk, make you feel better.”

“Tt.” He broke eye contact, glaring down at the street below. Damn her and her ability to see through him. “We are all hurting. I do not see why it is imperative that I be the one to speak about it.”

He knew the look she was giving him, that same sad look that said she just wanted what was best for him, namely his happiness. She placed a hand on his chest, right over his heart. “Hurting,” she said once more.

Her hand remained on his chest for another few seconds, driving home her point, before she removed it and allowed her cape to once again surround her form. Damian’s fists clenched, his eyes squeezed shut. Finally he looked back up at her, finding she’d flipped off the white out lenses so he could see her eyes again.

“I am unsure of my place,” he admitted. “I do not know what I should do. Nothing is the way it should be, and while I may be prepared for any number of things, this is not one of them.”

She patted his head, brushing his hair back as she did. Where normally he’d argue against such action, with Cassandra that just wasn’t possible. He had to admit, he did enjoy the feeling, especially without Richard around to offer it. He’d need to stop complaining about the man’s hugs, he missed them too much to say they annoyed him.

“Need time,” she said, pulling him close. “We readjust, need to change too. But takes time.”

“I am not giving up Robin,” he declared, shifting away from her. “If you think taking Father’s mantle means you can take that away from me—”

“No,” she interrupted. “Time. You need time.”

His shoulders sagged, all the fight leaving him. He knew what she meant, and he knew she was right, he just, it would be just one more thing to add to his list of things that didn’t feel right. He’d been thinking about it for a few days, since his talk with Kent, maybe even earlier, when he’d found those files, or when he saw Todd on the Watchtower and got to see just how  _ normal _ he looked compared to before his disappearance. The convictions he’d felt before, that firm determination to go out every night and fight the criminals and villains of Gotham, he could hardly feel it anymore. It was there, yes, but just barely.

“You won’t replace me, will you?” he asked, his voice smaller than he wanted. Brown had been Robin before, it wouldn’t surprise him if she wanted the role back if he were to step away. And Batman needed a Robin, that’s what everyone always said right?

She gave him a sad smile, ruffling his hair once more. “No, I like you. Steph likes Spoiler.” She leaned down, a playful grin on her face like she was going to tell him a secret. “And green not a good color on her.”

He nodded, letting himself smile at the joke as he leaned into the hand in his hair. “Fine, but it doesn’t start until tomorrow.”

She smiled down at him. “Okay,” she said, holding out her hand.

He rolled his eyes before taking it. “A few days,” he said, “I can’t allow you to get into trouble for too long.”

“Not without you,” she said, tapping his nose with a soft “boop” and dashing away. Damian watched, utterly confused, before he realized what she’d done. He ran after her with a shriek of fury, the familiar rooftop forgotten as he chased his sister across the city.

* * *

“You were covering for him.”

Damian didn’t necessarily have any strong feelings associated with Oliver Queen, the man handled his business well enough, his operations out of Star City seemed to go well, his sidekicks or children or whatever they were seemed to turn out okay for all intents and purposes, whether he was the cause of it or not, and he managed well enough as one of the few non powered members of the Justice League. But by god, the man could certainly be an annoyance. How he’d managed to remain a member of the Justice League for so long with his confrontational attitude and stupid goatee Damian couldn’t tell. Perhaps it had to do with the man’s wife, or perhaps it just had to do with his money.

Timothy heaved a sigh farther down the table, accompanied by an eye roll from Gordon. Cassandra was the only other bat present, and she seemed to be doing the best at hiding her displeasure.

“We did not,” Gordon growled out, eyes drilling into the archer.

“You knew of all this shit, you have it all  _ on file _ . You knew what he was doing and you did nothing about it,” Queen argued back.

“We didn’t know he did  _ that _ ,” she repeated, gesturing wildly towards to the screen showing the files related to Jason’s return. It wasn’t all of the files, not even close, but it was enough. It had been Timothy’s idea to give them to the League, a sign of good faith on their part that the League wouldn’t abuse the information. Damian desperately hoped he was correct in his assumption.

“Even if we did,” Timothy added, looking far too tired to be in this meeting, “what would you have us do? Honestly?”

“That’s enough,” Prince interrupted. The League members present all seemed to snap to attention at the commanding tone. Queen curled back in his chair, arms crossed as he glared back at Timothy and Gordon. “No one here is at fault for Bruce’s actions other than himself. As such he will be the one to face the consequences, not those associated with him. For now, there are more important things to discuss.”

“Like how you’ll make sure this doesn’t happen again,” Queen grumbled, receiving another stern look and an elbow to the rib courtesy of his wife.

Damian could feel his hands shaking they were clenched so tight, the man’s biting words brining up the recent memories and the recent pain of discovery. Queen had no idea what he was talking about, none. None of them did, not Queen or Kent or Prince, not Allen or Cruz or Baz or Curry or any of these buffoons. They had no idea. They were outsiders with the benefit of hindsight, they had no right to judge them, no way of understanding what his father’s actions had done to them.

By the time he pulled himself back to the individuals before him, Timothy was finishing his explanation of what they knew from Todd’s return, and comparing it to what his father had told him. It was a familiar story to him by now, one he’d heard fall from Timothy and Gordon’s mouths far too often in the last week or so.

“—said there’d been a confrontation between them and the Joker, that Jason had been injured and disappeared. He never elaborated, and any attempts at finding these files were dead ends,” Timothy explained. “At the time I assumed it was above my clearance level, or that the files didn’t exist. Other things took precedence at the time. We had no idea about any of this.”

The League watched them critically, as though looking for a hole in his story. While Damian understood why they did it, it did not stop the frustration he felt. They were vulnerable here amongst these people, all these super humans and aliens and metas, and they were making themselves even more vulnerable by admitting all of this. Why couldn’t they just accept that and move on?

“I hope you aren’t planning on giving him that kind of power back,” Lance said from her spot not to Queen. “You’d be setting yourselves up for failure.”

The bats all looked at each other, a dark look in their eyes. Damian knew Timothy, Cassandra, and Gordon had been making plans together, had been working through different strategies that could be taken in various situations, it was to be expected after all. But the way they were looking at each other, it was an odd mix of annoyance and resentment, as though they hated that this was even a topic, that it even had to be a consideration. 

“No,” Timothy finally said. “He’s not. We’ve already begun changing the passcodes and security measures to everything. If he somehow manages to work through those we’ll change them again.”

“God that sounds exhausting,” someone grumbled down the table. Damian began to feel that tight coil of control he’d been holding onto slipping away.

“Father has proven himself untrustworthy,” he said, eyes flashing to Kent. “If allowed an inch he will take a mile, by force if he believes it necessary. He cannot be allowed access until that has been dealt with,” he droned out, eyes glaring holes into the table.

The conference room fell quiet around them, no doubt all eyes trained on him. Most believed him to blindly follow his father, and while that may have been true once, that certainly wasn’t the case now, not if he could help it. Cassandra reached for his hand, squeezing it in reassurance.

“What about the other two?” Cruz asked. “Nightwing and the Star Sapphire?”

“Yeah, Lanterns haven’t exactly been welcome in Gotham,” Baz added next to her.

“That changes now,” Gordon said, “as does the no meta rule. They’re antiquated and do little more than put everyone at risk and create hostility. It was stupid to begin with and it’s stupid to continue.”

“They welcome,” Cassandra said. “Dick is strong. If he is Red Lantern still, that okay.”

“And if Jason wants to return, whether as Red Hood or Star Sapphire, he is welcome to do so,” Timothy continued. “But if we’re going to talk about them, we also need to know what the League’s stance is.”

The League seemed to recoil, clearly not expecting the question to be turned on them. Damian fought to keep the grin off his face at the reaction.

“What do you mean?” Kent asked.

“When Hal mentioned a new Sapphire, the idea of bringing them into the League was brought up. Now that we know that Sapphire is Jason, is that going to change?” Timothy responded.

All eyes turned to Kent and Prince for guidance. The show of confusion left Damian feeling giddy before it melted into a sort of loathing. At the mention of a new Earth Lantern the League was willing to jump at the chance to offer membership, but the moment they knew it was Todd that confidence dried up. He couldn’t say he necessarily blamed them, especially when he knew he would have reacted the same way. They’d all been driven to this mindset concerning Todd, this very negative mindset. Having it blown back in their faces was uncomfortable to say the least.

He wondered if the same thing would ever happen with him, if it already had and he just didn’t know about it. At the prospect of a new teammate, would others get excited only to realize it was him they were talking about? Would that excitement ever last even through that sort of revelation, or would his past actions and attitude forever haunt him, whether it be with or without context? Would his father become a ghost looming over his future in the same way the man’s words had been for Todd? It had been a thought he’d carried for a few days now, and the longer it lasted the worse it got.

“We are open to the possibility,” Prince began, “however, we would need to speak with Jason regarding such an opportunity first.”

“And Dick?”

The room fell quiet once more, all eyes shifting around each other in a search for answers. Damian finally had enough, his free hand hitting the table. “Richard has been an integral part of League operations for years, whether as Nightwing, Robin, or Batman. He has founded numerous teams, has led most at some point. This should not need to be considered.”

Cassandra squeezed his hand again, keeping a strong grip on him. He turned, glaring at those present as he waited for an answer. 

“Well, I don’t know about the League, but Wally seems pretty invested in keeping Dick in the Titans,” Allen said, tapping his chin. “He’s not really worried about the whole Red Lantern thing as far as I’m aware. If anything he’s more intrigued I guess.”

“Donna seems to have similar feelings. As she was present for Dick’s rescue, I trust her judgement,” Prince agreed.

“Dick’s position within the Titans is basically set in stone,” Kent told them. “If he chooses to keep that position, his dealings with the League will remain the same as well.”

The bats nodded, accepting the answer for what it was. At the end of the day, nothing concrete could really be done until Richard and Todd returned, and they still didn’t have an answer of when that would occur.

“What about the rest of you?” someone asked them. “Everything that’s happened, seems kind of stupid to just keep doing what you’re doing.”

Damian’s eyes once more fell to the table as the others began their explanation of limited patrols and those individuals who were taking time away from the masks. He felt the eyes looking at him even if he couldn’t see them, could hear the whispers when his name was mentioned. He didn’t need to give them an explanation, not at all. They’d already learned too much of his family, of him and his problems, they didn’t deserve an explanation for this, or anything else.

It’s not like he understood it anyway.

* * *

It always amazed Damian how different Gotham was to Smallville, how the Kent farm and Wayne Manor could both be such large properties yet be so vastly unique compared to each other. The smell of hay and grass and farmland washed over him here, the sun beating down to create a glowing warmth on his skin. Sometimes he wondered how the two places could reside on the same planet, how it cold possibly be the same sun shining down on him and Jon that would also shy away from the skies of Gotham. He knew it was the same sun, knew it was still oxygen he breathed, but it all felt so alien after spending so long in that city. 

He knew the Kents were watching him, either from the porch or the kitchen or through the walls. They’d both had that look in their eyes, the same one everyone had displayed as of late whenever they looked at him. That look always made his stomach churn and tighten, made his chest grip itself as tight as possible. He didn’t know what to say to make them stop, only knew he needed them to. He understood their concern, that didn’t mean he appreciated their stares. Considering it had been Kent who mentioned staying at the farm for a few days so he could relax and figure things out, he’d hoped his eyes might show something other than that damning pity. That clearly hadn’t been the case if lunch had been anything to go by. Kent’s precious apple pie did nothing to hide the constant glances the man was sending him, or the leading questions his wife kept asking. He knew they meant well, but it was so frustrating.

“Damian, catch!”

He easily caught the ball heading for him, Krypto flying after it as Jon laughed in the distance. He felt a grin pull at his lips as he danced around the dog, keeping the ball from its slobbery jaws, before throwing it back to his friend. He laughed as he watched the two fly around each other, moving closer without conscious effort. At least he didn’t need to worry about that look with Jon, not to the same extent he did with the boy’s parents anyway. The ball flew towards him again with a shout, Krypto once again hurdling towards him in a streak of white. He managed to catch the ball easily enough, but wasn’t quick enough to avoid the dog tackling him into the ground. A wet nose ran over his face, managing to pull a laugh from him, before the dog huffed and grabbed the ball from his hand, trotting off to who knows where.

“Krypto,” Jon whined as he landed. “You need to be careful,” he chided, causing the dog to hang his head.

“It’s fine,” Damian said as he sat up. “Nothing more than a stained shirt.”

“You sure?” Jon asked as he pulled him to his feet.

“Of course I’m sure. Why wouldn’t I be?”

Jon rolled his eyes, unable to hide the smile on his face, before grabbing his hand and pulling him towards the barn. “Come on, Krypto found a cat and her kittens a few days ago, you’ve gotta see ‘em.”

Damian let the other boy pull him along, perfectly content to let himself be the follower for once. Jon’s presence was calming, his constant chatting and the hand gripping his keeping him focused. He didn’t have to think about Gotham or his father or the family here, he didn’t have to think about his future and what he’d do. He could just exist and enjoy his time with his friend.

“They’re so pretty,” Jon said as he pulled open the barn door. “We don’t know where the dad is though, but I’m guessing that’s normal, huh?”

“Not always.”

Jon shrugged, continuing on his journey to the back corner of the barn. Damian could hear the high pitched mewling when they entered, had seen a small black head peeking around the last stall door, but they were much more clear here, standing before the liter as the small fur balls all stared up at them in wonder. He knelt down to get a closer look, keeping the mother in his sights as he did so.

“They are beautiful,” he agreed as he allowed her to scent his hand, then took the tabby Jon handed to him.

“Right? This one’s name is Tiger. That one,” he said pointing back to where the rest were watching them curiously, “we called Oreo. That’s Cream, Cherry, and the dark brown one’s Walnut.”

Damian laughed at the names, rubbing Tiger’s small head as he arched a brow at Jon. “Were you hungry when you named them?” he asked.

“No,” Jon whined, huffing as he crossed his arms. “Dad helped me name them. And we don’t eat tigers either. Gosh, I thought you were supposed to be smart.”

“And I thought you’d finally grown a second brain cell,” Damian teased before turning back to the kitten in his hand. “I suppose we’ll just have to remain disappointed, won’t we?” The kitten mewled at him, reaching out to lick his nose, pulling another laugh from him.

Jon heaved a sigh before dramatically dropping down next to him, being careful of the kittens as he did so. They started to move towards him slowly, climbing onto his legs and lap, nuzzling into his hands, causing him to laugh once more. Damian would never admit it, but he really did enjoy hearing Jon’s laughter, it was just so light and joyful, so weightless compared to everything else Damian heard. He hoped that never changed.

At some point the kittens migrated to Damian, one managing to find a spot on his shoulder to sleep on, but he was sure Jon was responsible for putting her up there. The mother slept on beside them, her head resting against Jon’s leg as she purred. It was then that Damian realized the barn’s lights had been turned on, the sun now long gone outside. Looking to the side he found Jon still there smiling at him as he pet the kitten resting on Damian’s left thigh. Krypto somehow snuck in too, the dog snoring away on Damian’s other side. The two had managed to block him in without him even realizing it. He couldn’t bring himself to really care. It was nice, calm, so so calm compared to the last week of his life. His mind was clear, he had no responsibilities, he could just  _ be _ .

“Thank you,” he said as he let his head fall onto Jon’s shoulder.

Jon seemed surprised for a moment before scooting closer. “It’s no big deal,” he said awkwardly. “I mean, you’re my friend, I care about you, you know?”

Damian hummed his response, felt his eyes growing heavier with every second. When was the last time he’d gotten a good rest? He honestly couldn’t remember. Even before this whole mess with his father and Richard happened his rest had been horrible if not non-existent. Between his duties as Robin, his time as a student, and the nightmares that like the plague the few hours of sleep he could attempt, it was a wonder he functioned as well as he did. No wonder Timothy was always drowning himself in coffee. As undignified as it was to fall asleep on Jon’s shoulder, he knew his friend wouldn’t mind. He was just that kind of friend for him, someone he could rely on, even if he never said as such.

“You know how I always hear your heartbeat and your breathing and stuff?” At Damian’s hum he explained, “It’s usually all background noise, kind of like the wind or the house settling sort of stuff,” he rambled, fingers picking at the hole in his jeans. “So I never really pay attention to it, but it’s all wrong lately, so it’s almost like I can’t not pay attention. I know you don’t like talking about feelings and stuff, and that’s totally fine, but I worry about you.”

“Hmm.” His eyes managed to slip closed, forcing him to fight against the coming unconsciousness so he could hear Jon.

“Dad says it’s important that friends are there for each other, but it’s also important that they know they’re there too.” Jon’s hand moved up to brace against his back, almost cradling him.

“Don’ know wha’ t’ do,” he murmured against Jon’s shoulder, internally cursing how easily his control could slip when he was so tired. 

“That’s all right, we’ll figure it out. Everything’ll be back to normal, well as normal as normal can be for us. Promise.”

“Hmm-hmm.” He felt his last bit of control slip away, his limbs losing their weight as he drifted off. He could just feel Jon’s arms shift, could feel as he lifted them off the ground. He was out before they reached the house.

* * *

The sun setting over the distant Gotham skyline was a sight Damian was quickly coming to favor. Due to his role as Robin over the last few years his opportunities to see the event had been scarce. How he’d gone so long without appreciating it he didn’t know, but it sent of tinge of regret through him, a sadness at the loss. 

The roof of the manor was the perfect place to view it, allowing him the height to see over the surrounding trees, past everything nearby, and enjoy the colors that danced across the sky. Cassandra had joined him a few times, sitting and watching, enraptured as the colors blossomed across the sky with him. Tonight she was off to the city, Brown at her side as they took on Gotham’s criminals. As such it was just him and his canvas for the evening. 

His brush worked quickly across the surface, dots of lilac joining the oranges and yellows and pinks before he moved onto the deep purples and greens of the buildings and the ground. The nice thing he’d come to realize about painting the sunset was that he didn’t need to concern himself with perfection. The sky was constantly changing, as such he could allow himself more freedom in his choice than he could otherwise. He was so wrapped up in the glide of his brush he almost missed the soft footfalls walking towards him, the light tapping of a short boot heel. He didn’t need to look up to know who it was, if Cassandra or Brown were to join him it certainly wouldn’t be in anything other than sneakers. If anything he was more confused as to why she was even letting him hear her approach. Then again, that wouldn’t be the first odd thing to happen lately, especially not between them.

His mother sunk down next to him, graceful as always in her movement. He’d always wondered if he would ever achieve that fluidity, if he could ever move as poignantly as her or if he’d wind up sharing his father’s heavy presence and pace, that awkwardness of a large man attempting to slide into such a tightly controlled set of movements. Richard was the closest example he had to a man attempting such a thing, managing a sort of grace with his fighting and acrobatics, but even he didn’t quite meet the high standards Damian’s mother had unknowingly set, on top of lacking the height and weight of his father, thus making it an unfair comparison.

His mother watched in silence as he worked, eyes drifting between him, his painting, and the sky. She’d been more present over the last few months, moving on from the rare phone calls and secret visits to spending time with him at least weekly, if not daily. It was odd to say the least, but he’d be lying if he said he didn’t enjoy it. It was as though she was trying to make up for lost time, for past mistakes, like she was trying to apologize. While he didn’t think it was necessary, he certainly wasn’t going to decline the offer of spending time with her.

Her continued presence did bring up the question of her relationship with Todd though. He knew Todd had some training within the League of Assassins, it was fairly obvious to anyone that cared to watch him fight, but what role had his mother played in that training? She’d referred to him as her son as well, something that had taken Damian completely by surprise. She’d never mentioned that he had a sibling, let alone brought Todd up in any conversation that didn’t pertain to his training or the goings on of Gotham. What did it all mean?

“They’ve been gone for over a week now. It’s almost been two I believe,” she said as he set down the finished painting. She was clearly speaking about Todd and Richard, there was no one else she could be referring to.

“They will be fine,” he assured. “Between the two of them and the accompanying Green Lanterns, I do not expect they will be gone for much longer.” And wasn’t that a surprise. He’d never thought of the Earth’s Lanterns as competent, Stewart perhaps, maybe Cruz and Baz if he really thought about it, but that was it. So often they’d been presented as fools and jokesters, like imbeciles, whether by his father or by themselves. They’d just always seemed to lack a level of seriousness that others carried with them, making them seem much more stupid than they likely were. It was genius really, an easy way to make the enemy underestimate them. He’d need to study such things more, perhaps speak to them when they returned with Richard and Todd.

“Of course,” his mother said, nails tapping a short rhythm on the roof shingles. “But I am more worried for you my son, how their absence might be affecting you.”

“There is no reason for you to be concerned Mother, I am not allowing their absence to affect my performance.” She arched a brow at him, forcing him to elaborate. “Todd was gone for eight months without a word, this is nothing compared to that.”

“Hmm.” She pulled an apple from her bag, turning it this way and that, before cut it into slices. “I wonder,” she said as she handed a slice off to Damian, “if they might be prolonging their journey so Richard does not need to take up your father’s title too quickly.”

Damian felt a grimace pull at his lips, the idea of Richard being forced back into that role one he did not like. “No, Richard will not be Batman again, not without an emergency. And he would not prolong this separation for such a petty reason.”

“Is that so?” She was clearly egging him on, trying to get some kind of reaction out of him. He just wasn’t sure what it was she was looking for.

“Cassandra is Batman now,” he said with as much confidence as he could muster. “She is doing an excellent job at it. I would never approve of anyone taking that away from her.”

His mother reached over to grip his shoulder, an odd look in her eyes, something almost like regret. “Give it a few years, and you will be just as great, if not better, in the role.”

Damian couldn’t stop himself from freezing at the words, nor the sense of shame that flooded through him. She expected so much, wanted him to be so amazing, yet he could only seem to disappoint her, just as he only seemed to disappoint his father. “No, I don’t think I will,” he said, unable to meet her eyes.

“Of course you will. If you believe you need additional training I can find worthy tutors, I do not mind Damian.” He did not respond, and she seemed to finally understand his words. “But that isn’t what you are speaking of, is it?”

“No, I… I do not believe it would be wise for me to continue on that path. I understand that Father’s legacy is important, that my bloodline needs to be remembered and honored. I know this, but after what has transpired I do not believe I am the right person to do that.” He forced himself to look up to his mother, to meet her gaze as he continued, hoping she’d understand. “I want, I need to be my own person, surely you understand that. I wanted so much to be like Father, to continue his work, but with what I’ve learned and what I’ve seen, I’m not sure that is a legacy I wish to continue. I am sure things can be done to correct it, but as things stand there are others more capable of doing that at the moment.”

He found himself staring down at his lap, picking at the dried paint on his fingers as he waited for her response, her condemnation. He felt a hand on the back of his neck, and he could not keep himself from tensing as he squeezed his eyes shut. Rather than the stab of a knife or the sting of a slap, he felt himself pulled forward and lips on his forehead. He peeked his eyes open just enough to ensure he wasn’t imagining things, that this was really happening, before allowing himself to relax.

His mother leaned back, a small smile on her face.

“Mother?”

“I am proud of you my son.”

Warmth erupted within his chest, racing up into his neck, into his face, racing up and down his arms and legs until he felt like he was on fire. Of all the things he’d expected of this conversation, this was not it.

“You’ve grown so much habibi,” she continued as she cradled his face. 

He turned to hide the blush he knew was plastered on his cheeks, tried to pull his eyes away, but knew it was a losing battle. So he let himself lean forward and bury his face in her shoulder and grumble. She chuckled back, holding him close.

“What will become of Robin?” she asked, no judgement in her voice.

“I don’t know,” he said, relaxing as the smell of her perfume made its way into his nose. “I’m taking a break for the moment. I’m handling the computers and comms with Pennyworth, but that is all for now. I don’t know when I will go back.”

She hummed into his hair, once again kissing his head. “There is no rush. There will be others to handle the city, I assure you.”

At some point she began to hum an old lullaby, one he remembered her singing to him years ago. The sounds of the city were dying off in the distance, the sky dark above them. He should probably go down to assist Pennyworth in the cave, or at least get a head start on his assignments for the next week of school, but he couldn’t bring himself to move. This was too nice a moment to ruin.

* * *

Epilogue

This was easily the worst part of the job, easily one of the most horrible situations Clark had ever found himself in. Lex Luthor going on a power hungry rampage, an alien invasion, Darkseid, none of them could hurt him as much as this did.

Diana rewound the footage once more, the image of a burning building falling apart reverting to a single room with only three occupants, one of them falling to the floor with a hand clutched to his throat. How Diana could watch this with such a straight face, how she could manage not to let the pain and anger and sadness show through he’d never know. She hit play once more, eyes hard as the footage played at a slower speed, one of the text files on screen for comparison.

Clark tore his eyes away, a distinct feeling that he could only describe as nausea pulling at his stomach. He couldn’t remember how long they’d been there for, pouring over the files Barbara had left for them. There were so many, a lot more than what they’d originally thought, than what they’d showed during the League meeting a few days ago. Every single one made the guilt that had been following him for months increase. He thought he knew Bruce, hell the man had gone so far as to say Clark was his best friend. Bruce made it near impossible to know him, let alone to become friends with him. Being called that, it meant something, it meant they were close, that they mattered to each other. But friends didn’t keep things like this secret, and the man he thought Bruce to be wouldn’t have crossed this line, not without seeking help afterwards.

Bruce, what had he been thinking? Really, he didn’t have to ask that question, the files laid out for them exactly what Bruce was thinking, or at least what he let himself believe he was thinking. It didn’t sit right with him even then. There had to be something else, anything.

“Clark?” Diana’s voice pulled him from his spiral, her eyes shining with concern.

“How didn’t we see this?” he asked, his mouth running without his permission.

“You cannot blame yourself for his actions,” she said, resting her hand atop his. “You cannot expect to be everywhere or know everything. Contrary to what some might believe you are not a god, and you are most certainly not omnipotent.” 

“No, but I should have heard it, should have known something was wrong. We’ve apprehended people for much less than this,  _ he’s _ apprehended people for less. How could we just sit by and let this happen?”

Diana studied him, her face showing an age she rarely let them see as she moved to grip his hand tight. “He was our friend. Such relationships tend to cloud one’s judgement about an individual. We are able to turn a blind eye or make excuses for those we are close to that we would not for strangers.”

He understood the logic, knew she was right. They were too close to the situation, too invested in one side to bother looking at the other without a given reason. Still… “Was?” he asked.

Resentment passed over her features briefly, then sadness, and finally stone cold resolve. “He took my trust and betrayed it Clark. We already allowed him to do so much, to invade everyone’s privacy and create those horrid contingency plans against us in the hope that it would make him feel safe and trusted. Now we find out all of this?” Her hand rose, gesturing towards the screen, to the fire and the blood and bleeding body on the floor. “This is not justice, this, everything he’s done, this is attempted murder, this is abuse. He had options, he could have called upon any of us and he didn’t. He chose this route, chose to cover up this event, and I cannot stand behind it.” She forced herself to lean back in her chair, the hand not gripping his lifting to her mouth, clutched tight. “I am willing to support him in his recovery and to help him seek help to correct this, but it will be some time before I can call him my friend again.” For probably the first time he watched as grief took over her features, pain radiating from her, before pulling herself back together. “If I ever can.”

Clark flipped their hands around, squeezing hers back, letting her hold on as tight as she needed. She put on a brave face, but it wasn’t hard to see how much this was affecting her.

“What should we do when he wakes up?” he asked, unsure of what else to say. It was a topic he knew they needed to discuss, one that couldn’t wait, not with how much this situation kept changing. There was no telling when he would wake up, it could be a month from then, a week, it could have already happened and they just hadn’t been notified yet.

“We need to be honest. We mustn’t sugar coat our words. His actions are unforgiveable. Until something changes, until we believe he has changed and will be a positive influence once more, he will have no say in what goes on within the League.”

He nodded in agreement, the fact that the three of them, the Trinity as others had so cleverly dubbed them over the years, would likely never be together again hurt. Between the three of them they’d done so much good, learned and grew so much, but that had to end, quite possibly permanently.

A thought struck him as he thought of the League, of the Watchtower, how truly invested Bruce was in the League’s operations. “What if he pulls funding?” he asked. “I know it’s not a pressing matter but—”

“I hope he has a good PR team, because they’d be dealing with a massive public fallout,” she said with bitterness. It seemed this wasn’t the first time the thought had crossed her mind either. She sighed, once again forcing her features to relax into something neutral. “If it does come to that Oliver has offered to take on the task. Timothy has also offered his assistance as much as he possibly can. If it comes down to it, we don’t need his money, we have individuals willing to step up and take over that responsibility.”

Clark let his eyes fall down to the table, resting on their joined hands. They were both squeezing so tight now, it was a wonder they hadn’t hurt each other. “It feels like we’re turning our backs on him,” he admitted.

“He has done a lot more than turn his back on us Clark. He’s turned his back on us, on his family, his  _ children _ , the people he’s sworn to protect, on the rules and principles and morals he swore to uphold.”

Her tone felt wrong, like there was a second meaning to it, an added layer of bitterness. “What are you saying?”

“I believe it would be unwise to leave him unattended with them. I understand that all but Damian are legal adults, but that does not change the sway he holds over them. Either they should all be moved away from wherever he will be staying during his recovery, or someone should be constantly present.”

“That feels extremely invasive though.”

“Prison would be a more fitting punishment for what he’s done, but I doubt you want that. It would put all of the League and their identities in danger, unfortunately. But something must be done, or nothing will change.”

Clark squeezed his eyes shut, sinking his teeth into his lip as he did so. “Why do you have to be right?”

Diana laughed, her voice still coated in sadness and regret. “I am a few thousand years your senior Clark, it’s only natural.”

They sat together, basking in the other’s presence and the silence that space brought. Up here the sounds of Earth were dulled if not non-existent. Only the Watchtower’s current occupants remained as background noise to him, much easier to fade out.

“He was seeing someone,” he told her. “A therapist or a counselor or something. Do you think…?”

“I believe it is worth a try,” Diana offered, squeezing his hand once more before standing. “I am going to get some more coffee before we continue, would you like some?”

“Yes pl—” A sound in the distance interrupted his train of thought, the background noise and its beeping echo speeding up. No, no that wasn’t possible was it? Now, of all times? A pounding sound soon joined it, feet hitting the ground as someone ran towards the beeping.

“Clark what is it?” Diana’s hand on his arm pulled his attention to the room before him. Panic was clearly written on his face if her concerned look was anything to go by. “Go, I will wait for your return.”

“You don’t…?” Her tired look was enough for him to understand. She needed time to prepare herself for this, to be capable of seeing him and remaining calm. He nodded, speeding across the Watchtower. He made it to the med bay in record time, J’onn and the on hand doctor already there to greet him.

Looking down he saw familiar steel gray eyes looking back at him in confusion, the face around it finally starting to loose a little of its bruising and puffiness. He didn’t know what to do, couldn’t push himself to do anything, to move any which way. Normally he’d run to his friend, say how worried he was about him. Now he found he could do nothing but stare back and wonder how they got here.

**Author's Note:**

> Was this all just an excuse to write Damian rejecting the Batman mantle? Kinda sorta not really. It was a happy coincidence I guess, something I've been thinking about for a while that kinda snuck its way in. We'll be getting back to Jason, Dick and the boys in space in the next part thankfully.  
> For anyone interested, I'm on tumblr [ do_not_careissa ](https://do-not-careissa.tumblr.com/)  
> 


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